


Pale Flowers and Silk Robes

by nonethewiser



Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Family Issues, Historical, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Partners, Sexual Content, khan dynasty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonethewiser/pseuds/nonethewiser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prince is quick to anger, and has many wives, but none so unique as the Christian foreigner that has a way with words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Flowers and Silk Robes

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in episode three of the Marco Polo series, after the feast with Kublai Khan's cousin. I don't own any of these characters. I love both Jingim and Marco and was saddened to see no fanfiction about the two. Enjoy!

Marco flinched as a glass ornament exploded against the floor beside him, thrower of said ornament panting from where he stood a few feet away, arm still outstretched.

"Damn you, Father! _Damn_ you!" Jingim screamed, ignoring Marco's presence as he often tended to do. Unless he was threatening to kill Marco, or sending him glares from across his father's court.

"Raising me to be.. so.. _Chinese_! Nobody will ever come to respect me, not like this. Leaving me to attend this feast with that Minister bastard and the Christian!"

The young warrior stomped on the ground, his silken clothes swaying violently, rippling golden waves.

He panted, trying to catch his breath, cursing his father.

"He should just kill me like he killed his brother!" Jingim snarled for the second time that night, and Marco was beginning to worry somebody might hear the enraged young prince.

Marco cleared his throat, and instantly regretted it. The prince glanced at him from behind a curtain of inky black hair, a good portion having come undone from his typical up do hairstyle. It was as if he had just noticed Marco's presence.

"What are you doing here, Latin?" Jingim whispered venomously, his posture becoming rigid. "Get out before I cut your tongue from that mouth of yours. My father would have no use for you then."

Marco's first instinct was to flee the tent before Jingim made good on his word, but before he could stop himself he blurted, "Sire told me to accompany you, Prince. I am sorry the feast did not turn out how you expected. Perhaps in the upcoming battle you will have a chance to prove yourself again. Then they will treat you in a manner befitting of the son of Khan."

Jingim's eyes narrowed. He straightened, and in one swift stride stood in front of Marco, a hand coming up to harshly grip Marco's curls. The startling movement had Marco unconsciously leaning away.

"My father continues to strip me of my honor, and now this insolence? Are you suggesting that I need to prove myself in some manner? Do not speak to me as if we hold the same station. You are a lowly foreigner. You would do well to remember that."

He jerked Marco's head back, exposing his neck in a display of power. "Now, Latin. Describe to me,"

Marco swallowed, eyes flickering from the matt on the floor to the jug of water under the table to anything but the black haired prince whispering against his pale skin of his throat.

"Describe to me in that way of yours, just like you do for my father," Jingim's lips grazed his skin, and the area of contact burned hotly, sending a jolt through him.

"Describe how I fight in battle. What you've seen and," Jingim let out a cool breath along Marco's jawline, "and how you've seen it."

He angled Marco's face down again, gazing at the Latin's features. So different from anybody else in his father's kingdom. Striking green eyes, plump pink lips. Hair the color of the desert sands that Jingim had become increasingly familiar with as more wars raged on. 

Jingim's wives were truly rare beauties. Other women in the kingdom paled in comparison.

But Marco was something even more rare. Even more real. Jingim ran his other hand over the hard planes of Marco's chest, so unlike the breasts of the women that lined up to please him. It was different.

And right now, different was what Jingim craved.

"You emit an aura one would expect from the son of Khan. It shines from you a vibrant light. A glow pulsating in the darkness. Soldiers rally behind you, follow that light, trust that you will guide them. They are confident in your ability." Marco whispers, treading cautiously. 

"Hmm." There is a pause. He knows that Marco is calculating his next words carefully.

"The beast you ride responds to you as well. It glides across the ground with a grace that almost competes with your own. Like a god delivering swift justice, rather than a man fighting in war."

Jingim smiles at that, full lips curving slightly.

"I see why my father is so taken wih you, Latin." Before Marco could think of how he could possibly get out of this mess, Jingim tilted Marco's head back with surprising tenderness and kissed him, slow and deliberate. Marco kissed back tentatively, and Jingim laughed, a breathy exhalation.

"I am not a woman. There is no need to be gentle with me." Jingim murmured, pressing himself against Marco and crushing their mouths together more forcefully as if to prove it.

Marco pushed back, surprising Jingim. Jingim grinned, a knowing look crossing his regal features. "Hn. So the delicate pale flower has some fight in him?"

Marco's eyes widened. Had Jingim seen Marco and the girl have sex?

As if sensing his thoughts, Jingim bit Marco's lower lip, tugging it into his own mouth before letting it go with an obscene sound. "Forget about her, Pale Flower. I'm the one you should be focusing on."

Jingim pulled the sash around his waist, and his clothes fell to the floor. He began to tug off Marco's robe, pulling him towards the small bed surrounded by silken drapes.

He shoved Marco down onto the bed, climbing on top of him. His pale skin glowed unblemished, save for the bumpy scars on his forearms. They were striking against his smooth skin. Marco traced the scars, brows drawn slightly together. Jingim straddled Marco's waist, their erections rubbing against each other briefly and effectively reminding Marco of his current situation.

Marco groaned, eyes fluttering shut, and Jingim ground his hips down again.

The two moaned in unison.

Jingim threw Marco's clothes off to the side carelessly, and began placing open mouthed kisses to his neck, going lower down as he went, and leaving a trail of splotchy pink spots along Marco's skin. He flicked his tongue over Marco's hipbone, and Marco shivered in anticipation.

Jingim finally grasped his erection, blowing on the tip lightly, gazing up at Marco through hooded eyes. "What would my father think if he saw me now, about to suck the dick of a lowly foreigner as if I were a cheap whore." Jingim wrapped his lips around the head of Marco's cock, and Marco gasped, eyelids fluttering. His hands clenched and unclenched the sheets.

"I do not-" Marco began, his voice melting into a needy whimper as Jingim lowered his mouth down Marco's cock, taking more in. His lips were stretched wide, face flushed, black hair cascading across his pale skin like ink seeping across paper.

He moved his tongue underneath Marco's shaft, hollowing his cheeks and holding Marco's hips down whenever he tried to buck up.

Jingim bobbed up and down, and Marco moaned desperately, clawing at the sheets. He was so near release, yet Jingim was keeping him just at the edge. It was torture.

Jingim moved off, wiping his now swollen lips with the back of his hand.

"What was that you were telling that girl earlier?" Jingim murmured, seeming to delight in the control he had over Marco. "That women melt in your hands, like snow in a desert?"

"Do you suck the cocks of every lowly foreigner, or am I the exception?" Marco countered, and Jingim licked his lips. "Careful Latin, your words can get you killed."

Jingim's voice came out raw and throaty, the sound only serving to make Marco even harder.

Jingim quickly grabbed a jar of oil next to the bed, unscrewing the jar with one hand and stroking Marco's shaft lazily with the other.

Jingim poured a generous amount of oil onto his hand, and Marco watched, his entire body aflame with arousal.

Marco suddenly felt two long fingers prod at his entrance. He clamped his thighs together, and Jingim raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Marco gave Jingim a look of bewilderment, accent thick as he tried to reverse this turn of events. "I thought you- I thought- but...I'm a man!"

"So am I." Jingim eased Marco's thighs apart, a sly grin gracing his features, and Marco grit his teeth as a finger slowly entered him. Followed by another, much too fast.

"Ah!" Marco winced, and Jingim slowed down, not looking particularly sorry, but pressing his mouth against Marco's in a smoldering kiss. When Jingim had stretched Marco out to the point he deemed sufficient, he lathered his cock up in more oil.

He pressed in gently at first, and Marco hissed at the pain. Jingim pulled out before suddenly slamming back into Marco. Marco groaned as if stabbed, and Jingim moaned, feeling the tight heat fully sheath his cock.

He began to thrust in and out, getting more erratic as he went. He angled himself differently before slamming in again, and Marco saw stars. He moaned loudly, writhing on Jingim's cock.

Jingim looked smug, slamming into that same spot again. "Maybe you'd be better off at a whore house, than boxed up for my father's amusement. It wouldn't be that far a fall, would it?"

Marco was unable to form a word, reduced to an incoherent mess.

As Jingim's thrusts got more frantic, Marco pushed down to meet him, and they both moaned, Jingim's eyes fluttering shut.

Jingim pulled out just in time to shoot his come onto Marco's stomach. Jingim swiped up some of his come from Marco's stomach, before absentmindedly pumping Marco to his finish with his come covered hand.

Jingim wiped his hands on the sheets, before standing up, slipping on his orange silken robe with the elegance of a prince. "Clean this up, Latin."

Marco sat up, hair mussed, lips swollen from kissing, skin sweaty and flushed. Jingim knew he looked something similar. "Oh, and make sure to describe to my father exactly what you saw and," He opened one of the tent flaps, long black hair swaying behind him, "how you saw it."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any spelling errors! This is the first fic I've ever posted on here and it's probably terrible but feedback is appreciated! Thanks for reading!


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